A Small Ripple
by Cobalt Jan
Summary: Johnny hits the road hoping to repay a debt but comes away with more than he bargained for.
1. A Small Ripple

A Small Ripple

**Part 1**

With the dishes cleared and his stomach full Murdoch leaned back in his chair and studied his sons. Immense joy welled within at the sight of his two boys. Johnny was slouched low in his seat and wiped at some crumbs, forming a small pile while Scott sat straight and rolled his glass between his palms. Both men appeared to be lost in contented thought. Murdoch cleared his throat, bringing both boys' minds back to the table and their eyes to their father.

"I need one of you to go to Bakersfield. I'd like you to leave tomorrow. That should give you enough time to get back before Thursday."

"Bakersfield, why?" Scott asked.

Murdoch leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table's white cloth. "I'm not sure either of you recall, but after dealing with Pardee we had quite a mess on our hands." The look of amusement Scott and Johnny exchanged pleased him.

"If you don't mind me saying so, Sir, we'd have to have been blind not to notice."

Ignoring the comment, Murdoch continued. "All our fields of alfalfa were burned out. I'm not talking just Lancer, the smaller ranches too. We were desperate. Already close to going under, without quality feed our cattle would never fetch enough at market. The irony was not lost, Pardee was dead, but, he still came damn close to driving out half the ranches in the county."

"Not sure we understand what this has to do with Bakersfield."

"No, I don't imagine you do." He glanced at his two sons. "Tom, Tom Baker is the reason most of us are still here. Because of his alfalfa we got good money for our beef. At the time, you probably thought it was business as usual, the wagonloads arriving one after another. But that was about as far from the truth as one could imagine. And now, now that we can, we want to repay him for his generosity."

"Scott? How about you? You've finished the survey for the new well. Am I right?"

"Ah, yes, that's done but I… I'm not so sure I… maybe if we… "

"I'll go, Murdoch." Johnny's voice was soft, his eyes and fingertips on the mound of crumbs. Lifting his head, he offered a smile. "Scott already asked Emma to the dance this weekend, took him three weeks just to work up the courage…" His grin widened, aimed directly at his brother.

Scott reached across the table and flattened the tiny pile. "Why you…" he said with a wagging finger.

"What? It's true." Raising his right hand into the air, there was a hint of laughter in Johnny's voice.

"I was just waiting for the most opportune moment."

"You call it what you want, I'll call it what I want, Brother."

"Yes, well, if we could get back to the matter at hand," Murdoch fought to reclaim the conversation. "Bakersfield."

"What I don't understand is why either one of us has to go. Why don't we simply wire the money? Two days is a long ride for a simple thank you."

"It isn't that simple, Scott. This man went out of his way to help us, complete strangers, at a great expense to himself. The very least we can do is send a personal envoy. Besides, it's been decided. Johnny, come with me to the safe and we'll go over the particulars."

~*~*~

Daybreak was still an hour away but Johnny was up and ready to go. With comfortable ease he tossed his saddle bags over his shoulder and quietly headed down the backstairs to the kitchen. Unexpected warmth greeted him along with the scent of fresh coffee. Pouring a cup he sipped cautiously then spied the cloth bundle Teresa, no doubt, left for him. He undid the knot and surveyed its contents. Smiling he pulled a biscuit from the folds and bit into it hungrily, holding the biscuit in his mouth he retied the fabric and slipped it into in his saddle bags.

Spurs sang as he stepped into the great room finishing off his biscuit. A fire blazed warm in the hearth. Obviously he wasn't the only one starting early today. Moving closer Johnny stared into the flames enjoying the unexpected coffee and heat.

"Better bring an extra blanket, looks like we're in for a cold spell, if Jelly's elbow can be trusted."

"You're up early, Scott." Johnny didn't turn around but knew his brother sat on the couch.

"Yes, something you said last night got me to thinking, Brother."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"It wasn't so much words as a look. You know this man Baker?"

Johnny still stared onto the flame. "Not the man, the town, Scott."

"That's not the way I saw it but, either way, do you think its wise? You, going alone?"

"I ain't walkin' into any trouble, Scott, if that's what got ya up early."

"That may be, but I'd feel a lot better if you had some company."

"Nope, don't need it." Johnny spun around, his face flashing a smile. "But I do appreciate your offer."

"Joh-n-n-y" Scott stretched out his name in a warning tone. "If there is something we need to know, perhaps…"

"Look Scott, like I said, I appreciate the offer, but… the only thing along the trail is some memories, memories I'd like to visit." He shot a narrowed glance at his brother. "Alone. No offence."

Scott raised his hand. "None taken, but…"

"But, nothin', Scott." Johnny's grin faded. His voice softened and he averted his eyes. "I've watched two friends die in the past few months Scott, first Wes then Isham, and maybe you think given the way I lived that don't mean much but it does. Parts a me miss them. And I know it makes no sense but going back down this familiar trail, a trail I traveled with each of them, well…"

"Understood. And I'm sorry, I had no right to push." Scott rose from the couch and placed a solid hand on his shoulder, an offer of proof that his confession had been accepted.

Johnny smiled then finished off his coffee. "How 'bout you grabbin' me that extra blanket. I got the feein' I'm gonna need it. Didn't know November got this cold in these parts." Leaving the cup on the mantle, he walked to the door. He pulled on his jacket then grabbed his gun belt and hat from the rack. A shiver traveled the length of him when he opened the door to a raw wind.

Lyin' to his brother didn't come easy, but it wasn't a complete lie, more like not tellin' the whole truth. He'd traveled this trail with Wes and been with Isham in Bakersfield but there was more. He had his own debt to repay and it was long overdue.

**Part 2**

He peered down on the house, Tom Baker's house, from the crest of a small hill. It was smaller than he remembered, funny how things work that way. Memory twists things up, sometimes for the better and sometimes not. It was late and he was chilled right through to his bones, so he decided to keep going into town for a hot meal, a hot bath and a warm bed.

It was the same man in the livery, a good man. There was no recollection on his part, not that it was expected, but Johnny knew right off. It was the way Barranca took to him just like his pinto had. In fact, the town was full of good people back then, though he didn't see it. Hell, he'd never been acquainted with nice people. It's damn hard to spot what you ain't never seen.

"Sure is a cold night, Mister. By the look of this beauty you've been ridin' pretty hard all day."

"Ya, take good care of him." Johnny tossed him an extra coin.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, but much obliged." He raised the coin before slipping it into his pocket. "If I were you, I'd head right on over to Montgomery's Saloon, best stew in town and on a night like this the stew's the first thing to go."

With a nod Johnny left and made his way to the saloon. He noticed how little things had changed in a year. He shook his head, this town may not have changed but he sure had. Deep sadness tucked into him, sadness for the man who arrived here, in Bakersfield, little more than one year ago. Still feeling the sting of the Johnson County fracas, this was where he and Isham parted ways. It was the ugliest 'war' they'd ever fought and both were guilty of doing things, ugly things. Things they never figured they could do. Well, they learned real quick what each man was capable of and they also learned it's never a good plan to spend too much time with a man that knows your darkest side.

The saloon was quiet, as far as saloons go, and he welcomed the soft murmurs and hushed conversations. Eyes traveled to the door, taking in the stranger that entered and scowling at the cold air that entered with him. Most quickly went back to their dinner and drinks. A few looked long enough to put him on guard and he made sure he caught each stare with one of his own.

He sat heavily into the seat with the best view of the room, which just happened to be right next to the stove. Placing his hat in the center of the table he leaned back. The heat from the fire was welcome until it gradually woke each ache and pain that had remained hidden beneath frozen muscles and frigid flesh. And he suddenly realized just how tired he was; before he could reconsider his order of desires a steaming bowl of stew was placed before him.

"Looks like you could use this, more than the folks askin' for thirds. Bottom of the pot I'm afraid but it'll still be tasty."

Johnny looked up at the short balding man. His face flushed with the heat of the kitchen and a bead of sweat traveled down the side of his nose. But, it was his smile that made Johnny look twice. A big bold smile, a smile that could only be met with one in return. "Thanks."

"Mind if I sit a spell? That is if'n yar up to some company. Promise I won't talk your ear off too bad."

"Been just me an my horse for two days now, think my ear could use a little talking."

"Name's Pete, Pete Montgomery. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He extended his hand and waited, that smile never fading, not even for a second.

Johnny studied the face looking for something familiar but found nothing. He returned the handshake. "Lancer, Johnny Lancer," he replied, then scooped some stew into his mouth.

"Lancer." Pete looked to be considering the name. "Can't say I know that one, but then I've only been here a short while. This place used to belong to my brothers but... they both being dead... I came from St Louis not sure what ta do with it."

"Brothers, uh?" Johnny swallowed his regret along with another spoonful of stew.

"Yeah, but I tell ya, between you and me and the rest a this gosh darn town, they deserved whatever they got. Not sure that's how the town looked at it right off, but once old Tom Baker calmed 'em down they came 'round. They finally figured that man, Madrid, did this place a favor. Cost him though, from what I hear. My brothers played dirty, one called him out and the other took to back shootin'. Yup, that's my brothers, all right. Cowards, the both of em. They just weren't countin' on that Madrid fella to be so fast. You eva hear of him, Johnny?"

"Yup, I heard of him, Pete."

"Wonder what ever happened to him? Folks here say they ain't never heard a him after that, not that anyone would go lookin'. He was shot up pretty bad but managed to get on his horse, probably went off into the woods ta die like some animal. Don't ya reckin?"

"Wouldn't know, Pete," Johnny said with a yawn.

"Now lookee here, I go and promise not ta talk your ear off and that's exactly what I gone and done. You'll be needin' a bed for the night? Got a clean room upstairs, I'll go on up and get the stove started and you wait right here. Geez me and my mouth, runin', runin', runin'...

Johnny couldn't help but chuckle as Pete talked to himself all the way up the stairs, his lips still movin' as he turned the corner. The place had nearly emptied out by now. The last man stood at the bar. He drained his mug of beer, plunked some money down and walked to the door, pulling on his coat and hat. "Night, Pete," he called out and Pete returned the call from somewhere upstairs. Putting his hand on the knob, the man stopped and studied Johnny. He owned a pair of those eyes that kept staring when he walked in.

"You lookin for something, Mister? Cuz if ya are I ain't here to start no trouble but I sure as hell know how to finish trouble." Johnny spoke nice and slow, just to make sure he was understood.

"Nope, no trouble, you just look familiar is all."

"Well, I got that kinda face."

"Mister, don't go givin' Pete here a hard time. He's a goodman even if he does talk too much. Me and his brothers were friends and I kinda take it on myself to look after their little brother seein' as how... Well, you heard the story."

"Like I said, I ain't lookin' ta start no trouble."

"Just go home, Zeke." Pete stood at the top of the stairs. "Just go home."

Zeke studied Johnny one last time then swung open the door leaving nothing but the cold night air. The blast caused Johnny to shiver.

"Sorry 'bout that, my brothers had a few friends in town, just they were in the minority," Pete said as he walked down the stairs. "Fire's blazin' room'll be warm in no time."

"Don't worry about Zeke, I know his kind," Johnny said as he gathered up his hat and saddlebags. He felt the pull of sore muscles and a dull persistent ache in his head as he rose from the table. "Just point me to my room, if ya don't mind."

"I'll show you."

Johnny held up his hand to stop Pete's movement. "No." His tone was sharper than he intended. "Think I've had enough company for one night, my ear's a bit tender." He offered a feeble smile which was met by one of Pete's lip splitters.

"Understood, Friend. Top of the stairs, turn right, third door on the left." He stood and watched Johnny climb the stairs. "Bet you'll be wantin' a hot bath in the mornin' you seem a bit stiff."

"A bath is exactly what I'll need, Pete. Thanks."

**Part 3**

A solid rap on the door woke him. From the moment his head hit the pillow nothing had penetrated his deep sleep. Shit, not like him to sleep so sound in a strange bed. The first thing he did was slide his hand under the pillow and grip the cool handle of his gun and the second thing he did was sneeze, four times. He sat up, gun in one hand aching head in the other. This was not the plan.

"Johnny? Ya up? Johnny?"

Just a creak of voice was all that came out. "Yup, Pete." Then another two sneezes. He slid back under the covers, not wanting to move.

Pete opened the door slightly and stuck in his head. "Johnny? Got yur bath ready. Fig'erd you'd be movin' slow. Man don't belong outside in weather like this. Been told it's the coldest these parts have seen in years. Back home, we get our fair share of cold weather but folks out here just don't know how to dress and by the looks of you I'd say you're from down Mexico way, unless I'm mistaken, which don't happen much. Johnny?"

"Yup," he creaked again then coughed. A shiver pulsed through his body and he pulled the blanket closer.

"You got yourself a whopper of a cold there. Good thing I came in and put more wood on that fire, ya don't need ta be wakin' up cold, nope not good, not good at all. I got just the thing for ya downstairs. So pull on your pants and come down the back stairs, ya hear me?"

"I hear ya, Pete, I hear ya. You always this bossy?"

"Only when I need ta be, and I get the feelin' you're as mule headed as they come."

"So, I been told." Johnny replied followed by a rumbling cough.

"Just right down the back stairs, I'll be in the kitchen waitin' for ya." Pete closed the door as he left and Johnny smiled. He may have felt like it was Barranca that rode him for two days but this town was a good town with good people, and he couldn't help but smile. If only the last time he was here he'd seen it, but at least he figured some things out - eventually. That's somethin' to be thankful for.

Tossing back the covers Johnny pushed off the bed. Leaning on the bed post he waited for a wave of dizziness to pass. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. It did nothing for his spinning head so he quit. Dressing was more of an effort than he expected so he didn't bother with buttons and carried his gun, jacket, boots and hat cradled in his arms. Every muscle ached, hell even his teeth hurt as he moved slowly down the hall and stairs.

The smells from the kitchen penetrated his stuffed nose before he rounded the corner. An attempt at drawing in a deep breath brought on a coughing fit, which made his head spin, which made him wish his god damn head would just fall off.

Pete stood over a bubbling pot, wooden spoon in hand. "This'll be ready as soon as you finish in there," he said without looking up and nodded his head toward a door off the kitchen.

Still clutching his belongings Johnny walked into a small room surrounding a rather large tub. Steam rose from the water and moisture coated the windows, rolling down in big drops that pooled on the sill. A strong smell filled the air and even though he didn't care for it he did enjoy its affect on his lungs. He stood motionless, enjoying the moist air. "Shut the damn door," Pete barked. Johnny kicked it closed.

Positioning a chair next to the tub he placed his gun within easy reach. Everything else landed on the floor in a heap. He wiggled out of his pants and slipped off his shirt, adding them to the pile. With slow deliberate movements he slid his naked body into the water. It was hot, but not too hot and he sank deep into its soothing embrace. He felt each screaming muscle quiet and relax as the warmth worked its way up his body. First his calves, thighs, back then shoulders and neck, he almost felt human again. But the best sensation of all was each deep satisfying breath, filling his lungs without the overwhelming need to cough.

It seemed he had just dozed off when he heard Pete's voice. It startled him and, as per his custom, he pulled his gun from its holster with lightening speed as he rose, dripping of water. Pete swallowed hard. He stared down the barrel of Johnny's colt. "Din't mean ta spook ya, Johnny. Just thought it was time ya..." His eyes traveled away from the pistol as Johnny released his thumb and slid the gun back into its holster.

"Sorry, Pete. Never a good idea ta sneak up on me, it's an old habit."

"By the looks of them scars its one ya picked up the hard way. Look, I had no business bargin' in. Ain't no need for you ta be the one apologizin'. I'll just wait on out in the kitchen. You take your time, no need ta rush..." He talked non-stop as he backed out of the room and still talked after he closed the door.

Johnny dressed quickly, strapped on his gun and stood looking at the door, not really wanting to leave the comfort of the small room. He drew one more deep breath and stepped into the kitchen. Pete sat at the small table in the center of the room grinnin' his big grin. "Bet you're feelin' amight better, ain't ya? And I ain't done yet. Sit right down here and have some of my 'sure to fix what ails ya' soup and as my Mama used ta say, if nothin' ails ya it'll fix that too." He lowered his voice and added "Course ya won't be kissin' any pretty girls after this, hell ya won't be kissin' any ugly ones neither, for that matter. But you'll be feein' right as rain. Yup you sure will, or my name ain't Peter K. Montgomery."

"You sure do like ta talk," Johnny said as he sat in the chair across from Pete.

"Not to everybody, but for some reason I like ya, not sure why cuz your sure ain't much of a talker yourself, but something tells me you're good people unless I'm mistaken, which don't happen much."

"So, I've heard," Johnny chuckled as he ate from the bowl set before him. He looked at Pete with tears in his eyes, not from emotion or from coughing but from heat. Choking back the fire he said, "Ya can't tell – me - this is - your - Mama's recipe - never met a woman - north of the border - ta cook - like this." The words burst out between coughs.

"Onions was her idea." Pete smiled that great big smile, the smile that Johnny found he'd grown kind a used to. "Chili peppers, now that was me. So, how ya feel?" He looked at Johnny, expectantly and waited - patiently.

Finally Johnny put down his spoon and lifted the bowl to his lips, draining every last drop. He sucked in a long slow breath through his nose. "Not bad. Not too bad. I'm much obliged. Not sure why your bein' so nice, but…"

"Well, let me tell ya. When I came to this town I sure din't expect to be treated none too good, considering who I was related to and all. Wasn't too sure what my brothers done wrong but I figured it was them that did the doin'. Anyway, I planned on findin' a buyer for this place and head right on home, but, the people here were mighty fine and I felt more at home here than I ever felt in St Louis. You ever find a place where ya just knew, in your heart, ya belonged, Johnny?"

"Yeah, Pete, I found me a place like that." Johnny's voice was soft and he felt a smile creep across his face.

"Figured as much, but also figured it didn't come none too easy, leastwise judging by those scars and that look you get sometimes when ya think no one's watchin'."

Johnny's eyes drifted away from Pete's gaze and he ran his finger around the rim of the bowl.

"Yup, that'll be the look, right there."

With palms pressed firm on the table, Johnny rose, his voice decidedly cold. "Thanks again, Pete, but you must have more ta do than fuss over me."

"Shoot, I did it, didn't I? Cut a little too close, sure am sorry 'bout that, someday I need ta learn ta keep my dad burn mouth shut, yup someday."

Setting his hat on his head and pulling on his jacket, Johnny felt that tug of a smile again. "Somehow, Pete, I don't see that day ever coming." He flashed a big mischievous grin. "Unless I'm mistaken." He waited for the look of recognition to cross Pete's face.

"Which don't happen much, I reckon." Pete's smile stretched bigger than Johnny's.

~*~*~*~

It was close to a two hour ride to Tom Baker's house and Johnny figured he better get started. As good as Pete's cures were there was no way they'd stick. And Johnny didn't want to be feeling poorly while talkin' with Col. Baker.

He rode, keeping in the sun as much as possible, but feeling every gust of cold air. Once he reached his vantage point of the day before, he drew a deep breath and shifted his weight in the saddle, bringing Barranca to a stop. The breath started him coughing, sending tears streaming down his cheeks and clouds of silvered breath into the cold air. Gaining control he straightened and wiped the wet from his face. The voice was unexpected but brought the expected result, a gun cocked and ready. With the same speed, it was returned to its holder, followed by another bout of coughing.

"You have a bad habit of showing up here in less than good health, Mr. Madrid. What do you say we get you inside where it's warm?"

Through a rasping breath Johnny nodded and said, "Sure think I'd like that, Col. Baker."

They rode in relative silence. The only sounds were Johnny's occasional cough punctuated by a few sneezes. The land was flat, making the house appear deceptively close. But it took another half hour to reach the front porch. Tom waved over a hand to take the horses and they dismounted.

"I'm sorry, Col. Baker. I have no business being here. I'll warm up a bit and head back to town. We can try this another day."

"You'll do no such thing." Mrs. Baker stood in the open doorway wrapped tightly in a shawl. "Get in here this instant, the both of you." The two men looked at each other and spoke at the same time.

"Yes, Ma'am," said Johnny

"Yes, Dear," said Tom Baker.

"Land sakes neither one of you have the sense to dress proper for this kind of weather," she snipped, closing the door behind them. "Now get over there by the fire." She gestured with her hand. "Sit. Sit. And I'll get some tea."

Johnny did as he was told, moving as close to the flames as he could. Tom followed his wife into the kitchen, "Ellen, I'm not sure it's tea he needs, perhaps something a bit stronger, you do remember…" His voice trailed off and Johnny found himself alone in the parlor. He'd been alone here, in this parlor, two times before and both times he slipped out the door never expecting to return. Seems both times he was wrong, seems this time he'd stay.

**Part 4**

"My, my, Zeke was rather upset when he arrived, talking a blue streak. Do you think he'll do something foolish seeing he knows who our young friend is?"

"I don't know, Ellen. He can be a hard one to pin down. My guess though, he'll make sure Pete knows who it is staying at his place, that is if he hasn't already."

"Pete has a level head, can't imagine him reacting harshly. But you do have to wonder why he's here. You don't think Zeke could possibly be right? That he's here to finish what he started?"

"Dear, that was a year ago and the Montgomery brothers are long dead. There is no reason on earth he would decide to do their bidding now."

Bits of words and hushed voices, one man one woman, began to weave their way into Johnny's foggy brain. These were followed by strings of words that didn't quite make sense. What on earth were Scott and Teresa talkin' about? He must've done it again, fallen asleep in the great room. Or did he? His brain was thick and sluggish. Stretching he felt the pull of each and every muscle. That worked real fast at clearing the cloud from his head. Reality caused him to jackknife off the couch. Twisted in an assortment of blankets he landed unexpectedly on the floor.

Two faces stared down at him, both with tight lips and laughing eyes. It took another moment or two before he fully realized exactly where he was. "Oh dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Baker was doing her best to hide her laughter but failed miserably. "I'm so very sorry, this isn't a laughing matter, but you did look rather funny. Didn't he Tom?"

"It's not proper to laugh at another's misfortune, Ellen," he said with muffled laughter. Tom rose from his chair and extended a hand. "Would you like some help up?"

"No, I'm fine," answered Johnny, pulling his knees in tight and resting his spinning head. "If ya don't mind I'll just sit here a spell."

"Suit yourself."

"Thank you," he said to Mr. Baker. "Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"I'm real sorry for behavin' this way, Ma'am. Guess I should a just stayed in bed today."

"Don't fret none, Mr. Madrid, but rest assured that is exactly what you will do tomorrow. Mark my words."

"Oh, I do Ma'am. I know better than ta mess with the likes of you." Johnny lifted his head and licked his dry lips.

"Gracious, think I'll get that ginger tea I promised you, you've been sleeping so long you must be simply parched." She hastily made her way to the kitchen.

The room no longer tilting, Johnny moved to get off the floor. Mr. Baker was at his side, helping. "Take your time, take your time." His voice was soft and for the briefest of moments Johnny thought of, and missed, his brother. Once reseated on the couch Johnny studied the man before him, nearly sixty, small build and hair that started half way back on his head, there was nothing physical to remind anyone of Scott. But deeper, on the inside, this man was so much like his brother. Generous and loyal, the likes of which Johnny Madrid had never seen, but that Johnny Lancer had come to seek out in men he called friend.

Johnny looked to the window and was surprised to see darkness. It was barely noon when he arrived. Tom responded to his look of distress. "It's to be expected when you push yourself like you did. You were exhausted."

Consumed by a rumbling cough, Johnny leaned forward resting elbows on knees. Tom sat back down in his chair by the fire and waited until his guest recovered.

Feeling eyes on him, Johnny looked to his host. "Ya know I heard what you said before, when you thought I was sleepin' and it ain't what Zeke thinks."

"I don't doubt it, Mr. Madrid?"

"Don't go by that name anymore, Mr. Baker. Name's Lancer now." He sat back and watched the man's face. You could almost read what he was thinkin' by the way it changed, brows furrowed then lifted then furrowed again, a sigh of relief – maybe – and then he nodded his head. This all played out in a matter of seconds.

"Lancer, you say? From Morro Coyo?"

"That's right. And I'm here at the request of my father and the other ranchers to repay a debt."

"You father? But you were… I thought you…"

The door to the kitchen opened and Mrs. Baker walked in with the tea. "This will help…" She stopped and looked at her husband's obviously confused expression. Tom quickly recovered.

"Ellen, dear, it appears Zeke was most definitely mistaken. Our young friend here is on a distinctly different mission, one of gratitude on the part of those ranchers we helped."

"My, well that is good news isn't it, Tom?" She said, handing Johnny his tea.

Nodding his thanks, Johnny took a sip and allowed the honey infused liquid to soothe his raw throat. "Just to make things clear, that was my father's reason for sending me but not my reason for coming. I have my own debt to pay."

"Now, Mr. Madr… Lancer. There is nothing to repay here, not by your father and most decidedly not by you, young man. If I have my facts straight, perhaps it is I who owes you. You were paid a considerable sum to kill me, am I right?"

Hearing the words spoken sent a hard punch of guilt through Johnny. He leaned back nodding his head.

"It does appear you were not successful. It also occurs to me that your employers were none too happy when I road into town. I think that may not have been a wise move on my part, but if you had filled me in, perhaps that part could have been avoided."

"Yeah, well, I like to keep things under my hat." Johnny sipped his tea. "You weren't supposed to know. It's not like I went around NOT killin' people. Things like that gettin' out just ain't good for business."

"No, I suppose it isn't."

The room was filled with silence for a spell. Each person lost in a bit of memory. "I'd just come off a range war, the worst I'd ever seen." Johnny began, his voice barely audible. "Killed a lot of people, did a lot of bad things, things that haunt me to this day." He lifted his eyes to the Bakers and expected to see looks of disgust, but there were none, so he continued. "When I came here, to this town, I was all dried up inside. Only thing that mattered was easy money. The Montgomery Brothers were happy to oblige, five hundred dollars to put a hole in a man."

Mrs. Baker let out a small gasp. "Is that all a man's worth?"

Casting his eyes in her direction Johnny answered. "Actaully Ma'am, most men ain't worth that much. This man was worth somethin', but the worth of a man made no difference, least not to me." Johnny looked Tom Baker right in the eye then dropped his head. "After all I hadn't ever met a man that didn't deserve dyin', for one reason or another. That is until I started hearing the stories."

Draining the last of the tea from his cup, Johnny looked around for a place to set it. Mrs. Barker jumped from her seat. "Would you like more?" She asked as she took the cup from his hand.

"No thank you Ma'am, but it was just what I needed."

"Oh, I'm glad," she said.

"You're looking tired again, young man. We'll have plenty of time for discussion tomorrow," said Mr. Baker. "A room has been readied for you and, if I were a betting man, I'd place good money on you sleeping the night."

"And I'd take that bet Mr. Baker. A man don't sleep away the day and then sleep all night."

Tom Baker simply smiled. "We'll just see about that, won't we?"

**Part 5**

He woke. Dim light filtered through the curtains making it difficult to establish the time. No doubt it was early, the absence of noise giving the only solid clue. A gentle rain fell. Drops brushed against the window pane. The sound made him sleepy. Curling onto his side, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, he looked about the room. It was the same room. In fact it looked exactly the same. The yellow and white checked curtains hung straight, no ruffles or bows. How many times did he try to count those little squares?

The table by the bed was small and oval. A lace cloth covered the burn mark left by the hot iron used to cauterize his wound. It wasn't the only thing that still carried the scar from that day. On the front of the table was a drawer, its knob missing now. Inside he knew what treasures lay hidden. At least they were treasures to him when he began to feel better. Mrs. Baker would sneak something in while he was asleep, a deck of cards, some dice, jackstraws, and sometimes there were peppermints or licorice candies. To a half breed gunslinger with little respect for life; especially his own of late, these small gifts were indeed treasures.

But as much as he looked forward to opening that drawer, it was not his favorite thing in the room. No, that honor went to the simple wooden chair. During the days it sat empty. Johnny would long for the day he'd be well enough to reach it on his own and sit, looking out the window. But at night, Col. Baker would fill it, sitting, keeping him company, reading or just talking about nothin' in particular. That was the greatest treasure. A man, the likes of Colonel Thomas Baker, would sit and talk to the likes of a dirty killer who'd sold his soul to the devil.

The man didn't preach, didn't speak poorly of his past just, accepted it as if he were a farmer. He just talked, and asked questions. Not questions that were none of his business, but thinking man's questions, like how long should he let people stay at his fields before he was no longer helpin'. Or if people were born good or born bad or maybe it was life that made them that way. And if given a chance could a person change? Real questions, questions about what he thought not what he did, or could do. No one else had ever cared about what he thought; they were only interested in what he could do.

In fact, all that mattered to most men was his gun and then there were the women. They were interested in a whole 'nother weapon. But man or woman, in the end they only wanted to know one thing – How good are you?

All of a sudden a few things occurred to him. He'd been lyin' 'round for a spell now and there were still no sounds comin' from the rest of the house. On top of that, the room wasn't gettin' any brighter, if anything, it seemed darker and the rain was comin' down harder. Next thing he figured out was the weight on his chest was gone and apart from a slight headache he felt pretty good. And lastly, he was starving. This final thought was reinforced by the loud growl from his stomach.

He got out of bed and dressed. The fire in the hearth was out, but the room no longer carried the bitter cold that had seeped into his bones the last few days. Rain must have brought in some warm. This was good. He knew the house, how to get to the kitchen and trying to be quiet so as not to wake anyone went down the back stairs. Why was no one up? Did he manage to get everyone sick? Now that wouldn't be good.

The coffee pot sat on the stove. It was hot so he poured a cup and drank. He sat at the table. Even though he felt a lot better his legs still felt as wobbly as a new colt so sittin' was a good call. In the center of the table was a note propped up against a basket.

_Good morning Mr. Lancer,_

_We left for worship early and didn't want to wake you. Coffee is on and there are scones in the basket. We look forward to seeing you upon our return._

_Col. & Mrs. Baker_

Plucking a scone from the basket Johnny ate three before he even realized, washing them down with two cups of coffee. He roamed through the empty house, much smaller than Lancer but when he was here last it seemed a palace.

A sliver of sunlight pierced through the window then was gone, but it was enough to cut Johnny away from his thoughts. He stepped out the back door and watched as the clouds broke apart leaving a patchwork of blues and grays. Cautiously he drew a deep breath and was rewarded by silence. The sun hung low in the sky and it dawned on him it was not early but late. He peered down the road and spotted the approaching buggy. Fully aware it would be a while before the Baker's made it to the house; he decided to prepare a meal. It was the least he could do for these generous people. He hurried about the strange kitchen gathering what he could.

By the time the buggy pulled up to the door, his meal was complete. Johnny stood in the late day shadows and watched as Mrs. Baker burst through the front door. "Mr. Lancer! Mr. Lancer! We tried to wait out the storm. So sorry we're late. Mr. Lancer!"

"It's all right, Ma'am. It appears your husband would have won our little bet last night. I've only just gotten up maybe an hour ago."

"You poor thing you must be starved. I'll get to work straight away on dinner."

"Not necessary, Ma'am." Johnny bowed slightly and passed his upturned hand across his body. "After you," he said pressing open the door to the kitchen.

She stopped in the doorway eyes taking in the table.

"It might not be what you're used to but…"

"But nothing young man, this is splendid," she said as she walked deeper into the room.

"Ellen?" Col. Baker called from the other room.

"In the kitchen, Dear."

He walked into the kitchen to find his wife both smiling and crying. "Isn't this wonderful! Mr. Lancer cooked for us."

Johnny felt the heat of a blush color his cheeks and he dipped his head. "It's not much, just what I know how to do."

Colonel Baker looked at each face and smiled a rich heartwarming smile. Something this man rarely did. "I, for one, am starving," he said as he held a chair for his wife. "Thank you, Johnny."

"De nada."

The three sat at the kitchen table eating the simple meal of tortillas, roasted peppers and spicy beans. It was delicious and filled more than just their stomachs.

~*~*~

Mrs. Baker was humming as she hurried the men off to the parlor.

"Ah, that was very good. And I'll tell you what else is good, young man, you, you look much better today." Col. Baker passed Johnny a tumbler of whiskey.

"Feel a lot better; think it might have somethin' to do with this house." Johnny paused "Or its people." Lifting his glass, he offered a toast to the man seated before him. Col. Baker returned the gesture.

Nerves got the better of him and Johnny found it impossible to sit still. He moved to tend the fire, adding a piece of wood, stirring the embers. His eyes captured by the rise and fall of the flame. "You're a good man, Col. Baker, a man not ruled by money and greed. The likes of which I'd never met before." He twisted on his haunches to face the man.

"The first day I stood in this room, I had a job to do. A job I'd done before and figured I'd do again. But as I stood here, sizin' you up, a thought came to me. For the first time I saw a good man. A man that didn't deserve dyin'. And I had to ask myself a question. How could I end a life like that?"

Shame forced him to look away. "It was the first time I'd ever asked myself that question. And the answer made me sick inside."

"I remember. You didn't look well and I went to get you some water. When I returned, you were gone."

"Ya well, there wasn't much reason for me to stay." With effortless grace Johnny slid back into his chair, shaking his head to the offer of more whiskey.

"We both met men that day we had little experience with. You were as much a mystery to me. All my life I'd lived with the belief one should be thankful for what one has because there is always someone with less. Our meeting caused me to doubt that belief. For the first time I saw a man with nothing. I'm not talking about things. I'm taking about on the inside, hope, love, desire. Your eyes were lifeless and they haunted me. I had no choice but to ride into town and find you."

The Colonel stood and poured himself another drink. "Not sure what I hoped to gain by finding you, but at least I had hope." Col Baker paused to sip his drink. He stood behind his chair and leaned over the back, his glass held in both hands. "I know you've heard me say this before, but all a man can hope to do is leave a small ripple. That was the hope I carried with me that day. But by nightfall that hope was nearly gone, I thought you were dead. And for that I am sorry."

"I'm not sure you understand what you did for me." Johnny stood, the fire of gratitude igniting the last of his energy.

"I did nothing."

"Nothing? I stand here today because of you. You did not simply heal the wounds to my body. Do you have any idea the gift you gave me?" Johnny's voice was raised, the passion of his words evident. "You showed me I still was worth something, I wasn't a lost cause. Me. Not my gun. But, more importantly, the man you dragged from those woods and in through that door was not a man capable of loving. But the man who walked out two months later was." With his strength draining, he sat heavily into his chair. His voice was much quieter but the passion remained. "You opened the door for my family. Your first act of kindness started that ripple and it now, now it is a full blown damn burst."

Colonel Baker stood motionless. His wife having been drawn from the kitchen by the conversation stood behind her husband. She placed a hand on his shoulder, offering support. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"As you know I'm here at the request of my father. He gave me a sizable amount of cash to repay you for your kindness. I knew you wouldn't take it," Johnny continued, no longer able to hide the fatigue in his voice. "Knew it the moment I heard your name. But also knew you'd tell me who would take it, someone who needed it. There was a man that day, a man in the wrong place at the dead wrong time. I remember him and his family in a wagon. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

"I do. But how do you? How do you remember this? You were so badly hurt."

"Not sure. Just do. Tell me about them."

Fighting the urge to drift off, Johnny listened as Mrs. Baker told the story of Clayton Meese and his family. She finished with a motherly command. "Off to bed young man. You're dead on your feet."

"Yes, Ma'am, good idea." Johnny rose. "I'll be gone before you get up in the mornin'. So I'll let this be good-bye. But please, if I never see you again, know you both will always live in my heart and the hearts of my children should I ever be so lucky." He took Mrs. Baker's hand and, bowing graciously at the waist, kissed it. Then, he turned to the Colonel. "You are a fortunate man and you know it. Another thing I've rarely witnessed in my life."

**Part 6**

"Hey, Pete," Johnny spoke softly as he entered the kitchen from the saloon. He was not looking forward to telling his new friend just who he really was. It's just not easy telling a man you killed his brothers. One thing was certain; if he didn't tell him then Zeke would, if he hadn't already. "You're startin' early."

"Johnny!" Pete called out. He quickly spun around, knife in hand from his job of cutting vegetables. Tears wet his face. "Damn onions!" He said wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Johnny stepped back as the knife came a bit too close to his face.

"Boy howdy, Johnny, sure am glad ta see you." His wide grin did nothing to lighten Johnny's heart. "Was startin' ta think ya moved on. I would a been barkin' mad if ya left without so much as a see ya later. Ya sure lookin' a lot better than the other day. Maybe I should bottle my soup 'Dr. Pete's Magic Elixir'. Sounds pretty good don't ya think?"

"Not so sure about that, Pete, but it did do a good job."

"So where ya been? Any place excitin'? Oh, I'm sorry none of my business. Just like hearin' stories is all, don't make none of my own."

"Nowhere exciting. Just went to call on the Bakers. You know the Bakers, Pete?"

"Why sure do. There ain't a soul in these here parts that don't know the Bakers. Finest people I ever had a chance to meet." Pete wiped the blade of the knife on his apron. "This town wouldn't be here if not for them. And do you want to be let in on a little secret? It was Colonel Baker my brothers wanted dead. Can you believe that? Told you they were a nasty pair and ta think they found a man cold hearted enough ta do it, or at least they thought they did. But according to Zeke, even the likes of John Madrid couldn't kill Tom Baker. Can you imagine that Johnny?"

"Yes, Pete, I can. Ya see..."

"Don't go interuptin' Johnny," Pete said, waving his knife in the air. "See that Madrid fella' he come into town and flat out told my brothers he wouldn't do it, tried to give 'em their money back, but they wouldn't take it. Said they paid for somethin' and they were damn well gonna get it or else. Sane men just don't go around sayin' or else to John Madrid. So, according to Zeke, Madrid slid the money into his pocket and started ta ride outta town, only thing was he was riding the wrong way and that lit my brothers' fuse. They stopped him and called him out right then and there."

"Pete, enough. I got somethin'..." Johnny grabbed hold of Pete's wrist to still the knife as it poked the air.

"Guess there ain't no use in me tellin' ya the rest. Is there, Johnny? Seein' as you know better'n me. Yup, ya killed two crazy men. Men that would a destroyed this town and I gotta ask ya one question. If I can see ya done right, then why on earth cain't you?"

Slipping the knife from Pete's fingers Johnny felt himself relax. "Because they were your brothers, Pete."

"Gotta tell ya something, Johnny. My brothers were dead to my family long ago. The things they done made every one of us wish they were dead at one time or another. So you only did what needed doin'. But I guess, in your line a work you get that a lot. Now if ya don't mind givin' me back my knife, I got some cookin' to do."

Johnny sat at the table and watched Pete work. He shook his head. What kind a man forgives like that? If something were to happen to change Scott into a man worthy of killing, well it wouldn't make any difference. They'd still be brothers and there would be no way possible to befriend his killer. It would seem these two were never good men; maybe some men really are born bad. Guess maybe he'd have to have this conversation with his Scott when he got home. Home, he missed it. Knew he was supposed to be home by Thursday but the reason was lost to him. It wasn't anyone's birthday and it sure wasn't Christmas, so what else could it be? Guess it didn't matter, he should be home with time to spare.

"If your just gonna sit there I'd be more than happy ta put ya to work. Ever cut up a pumkin?"

"Um, nope. Can't say I have. What's it for?" Johnny said as he rotated a pumpkin in his hands, planning a point of attack.

"Why pie of course, need ten of 'em for Thursday, gonna have me one busy day, half the town will be here for dinner. You stayin? Cuz you sure would be welcome."

"No, I need to be home, they're expectin' me."

"Well, I imagine they would be. Foolish question. Now get ta work or get outta my kitchen."

"I'm workin. I'm workin'," Johnny said as he positioned the knife blade into the thick skin of the orange sphere. For a time they worked in silence. Until the question turning in Johnny's mind just had to be asked. "Tell me. Pete, When did you find out I was Madrid?"

"If you must know, that first night," Pete replied with a knowing grin. He'd completed his task of chopping and was now pulling nuts from a cloth sack at the table carefully cutting slits in the shells. Johnny stood on the other side of the table. "Sure was hard not to let on, but I knew I liked ya and figur'd no sense lettin' on 'til you was ready to tell me yourself."

Johnny let out a groan as he pressed his full weight onto the blade to cut through the pumpkin. "Care to tell me when you figured it out?"

"Had me a few suspicions, mostly them spurs a yours. People always talkin' bout those spurs. But Zeke came back in not long after you went up ta bed. He fig'rd out who ya was. Wanted to make sure I was ok. Lookin' out for me, ya know.

"Yeah, I know," Johnny said with a sigh.

"Bet ya do. He thought you was here ta finish the job ya started, the job you were paid to do. Went out and told Baker you was here. Baker told him the same thing I did. Told him he was full a nonsense. You were a good man, one deserving of a bit of faith."

Another groan as Johnny cut open his fifth pumpkin. "This here's the last one, right, Pete? I see you got the tough job of sortin' nuts. What cha doing with those?"

"Boy, you sure don't know much do ya? These are what ya call chestnuts and I'm gonna roast 'em and they're goin' in the stuffin'. Ya know, stuffin, Johnny? Bread, sausage, chestnuts…."

"Yeah, I know stuffin, Pete." Seemed like he was supposed to know what was goin' on Thursday, but he sure as hell didn't and by the answers he was gettin' from Pete, he sure as hell wasn't about ta ask. Specially since he had another question gnawin' at him now. "Was wonderin', Pete, need ta visit the Meese place, care ta come with me?"

Quick as a flash that wide as the sky smile of Pete's was gone. He got up, walked around the kitchen as if he was looking for something, opening drawers and cupboards pulling out one thing or another then putting it back.

"I asked you a question."

"Don't think I kin do that, Johnny. Don't think I can go calin' on Belle Meese, just ain't right."

"How so?"

"It's cuz of my brother she's a widow and her boy, Clay Jr. don't have a daddy." He sat back down at the table and put his face in his hands. "I'll tell ya one thing you probly don't know 'bout that day, seein' as how you were fightin' your own battle. But even in death my brother still had the knack for hurtin' people. It was my oldest brother, Will, who shot you. Did a fine job of it too, from what I hear." He lifted his head and looked across the table. "Sorry, Johnny." He then returned his face to his hands. "Hank, the next oldest, his bullet managed to hit an innocent man, killed him on the spot right in front of his wife and kid. That man was Clayton Meese and his wife and kid are the only two people I cain't face in this town. Just cain't do it, Johnny."

**Part 7**

"Sure am glad ya changed your mind, Pete," Johnny yawned. He'd hoped to get an earlier start but Pete insisted on finishing his pies and even though he was feeling a lot better, tired had a way of taking over all of a sudden.

"Well, guess this makes us even. My brother nearly kills ya and I go visitin'. Yup that about evens things up." He flashed a smile but it was a nervous smile.

"What are you nervous for? I'll be right by your side the whole time. Remember what you're gonna say?"

"Who's the nervous one? Think I got it, Johnny, ya only told me six times already. Not like its real complicated or nothin', I'm just givin' her a little money and sayin' I found it… " He squirmed a bit in his saddle before speaking again. "But I gotta tell ya, Johnny, I don't get it. Why don't you just tell her who you are? Seems being straight is the best way to go. I mean I just ain't no good at tellin' tales."

Johnny hung his head. This was not going as he planned. He wanted Pete in on this, wanted him to feel some good was buried in this mess. Figured if the money came from him she'd take it. Women can get all funny about money stained in blood.

His thoughts drowned out Pete's constant chatter but it finally got in and rattled his bones. "……Besides I'd be a fool not to want to make things right. Poor woman's suffered enough and if a little money can make her life easier then by golly that's what she'll get."

"Pete!" Johnny was getting tired. "Would ya stop talkin' and just listen? First off it's not a little money. This would work a lot better if it seemed like ya actually counted it. One thousand three hundred dollars ain't no 'little' money no matter whose countin' it. Second, according to Mrs. Baker she don't take hand outs, but if it's just found money it might make it easier."

"Then just where did I find this money? Don't ya think she might want to know that?"

"Just tell her ya found it under the floor boards or something. Ya figured it was your brother's and it needed ta be put ta good use. And what better use could there be than helpin' out the widow of the man they killed? My god, Pete, we've been over this already."

They pulled up their horses when the Meese place came into view. It couldn't have been much a year ago and it was much less now. Fences were falling apart, the roof looked like it had seen better days and, as they approached, it was evident the water pump dripped – no, more like trickled, which may have been a good thing because the trough leaked. A small stream of water traveled from the bottom, passed the front of the house and managed to pool up right in front of the barn door. Normally the last darn place you'd want a puddle of mud. But in this case it may again have been a good thing. The door hung from only one hinge and appeared to benefit from the puddle. One corner dug deep into the wet earth. It may very well be the only thing holding the door up.

A slight woman with brown hair streaked with bits of gray walked out from behind the house carrying a bucket. She eyed her two visitors with disinterest. "Water pump's over there and if you need anything else I don't have much, but feel free to ask."

Pete looked nervously at Johnny. Johnny gave him a nod and Pete cautiously slid from the saddle.

"Ma'am, Mrs. Meese is it?"

"Might be. Who wants to know?" She looked up at Johnny but the angle of the sun forced her to squint and shield her eyes so she turned to Pete.

"Mrs. Meese, Ma'am, my name is Peter K. Montgomery." Johnny watched as Pete tried to smile one of his big wide grins but he was so darn nervous it looked like he was gonna be sick. Johnny looked away hoping to spot the boy.

"Montgomery?" Mrs. Meese repeated the name. "You one of the men that killed my Clayton?

"No, Ma'am. I mean yes Ma'am. I mean - they were my brothers. And I'm sorry as a man can be for what they done to your husband." Pete took a deep breath. "Ma'am all I wanna do is give ya some money."

Johnny's head swung back around and he looked at Pete not believing his ears. All that practice and he ain't said one dang thing right, not one.

"I don't take charity Mister and if that's what you and your friend came here to do than I suggest you get back on that horse of yours and go. You won't be using money to ease your mind. Not that it's your mind that needs easin'."

"Ma'am?"

"Look, it ain't your fault your brothers were spiteful creatures, ain't your fault Col. Baker is such a good man even the likes of Madrid couldn't kill him and it sure ain't your fault we rode into town that day. I suppose if ya really want to split hairs then I guess it was my fault on account that I wanted to make some new curtains. Can ya believe that? My husband would still be alive if I could have just gotten used to blue flowers." She laughed a sad laugh as her eyes began to swell with tears. Her voice hushed, she spoke more to herself than the men before her. "Blue flowers. Why did I have to decide that day I couldn't live with blue flowers? Never did get them replaced. So now every day I get to look at those damn curtains and think how unfair life is. I still got those curtains and I don't have my Clayton." Tears starting streaming down Belle Meese's face and she dropped the bucket with a loud clatter. Her hands moved to cover her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.

The sound brought the boy running from the barn. He leapt over the puddle of mud catching his heel on the far side and skidded the rest of the way. He stood protectively in front of his mother in an instant. "You leave my Ma alone! Why'd you make her cry?"

Mrs. Meese straightened and with a hitching breath tried to stop her tears. "Hush, Clay. These men did nothing wrong. It's just me remembering your Pa. You know how I get." She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and rested her chin on the top of his head.

"Oh Ma, stop that," Clay said pulling away. "Ain't no baby."

"No Clay, you ain't. Now why don't you go back and tend to what you was doin'."

"But, I cain't get Dusty to feed her colt, Ma. All of a sudden she stopped and it ain't time yet."

"I'll be back in to help as soon as I finish up here. Now run along." Belle gave her boy a firm pat on the behind.

"If ya don't mind Ma'am I know a few things about horses, maybe I could help."

Belle looked from Johnny to her son and hesitated.

"Oh, come on Ma," Clay pleaded.

Belle nodded.

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Fingers of afternoon light slipped through the many cracks and knot holes in the back wall of the barn. Mother and baby were in the same stall but each time the tiny gray tried to nuzzle his mother would nip and send her foal nervously skittering away.

Johnny saw the look of concern on the young boy's face. It seemed the foal was about the only good thing that had happened to this family all year. And all the boy's hopes were pinned on this spindly legged little creature.

"She is a beauty," Johnny said after a low whistle. "Did ya name him yet?"

"Kinda likin' Shadow but Ma don't, she wants Smoke . What do you think, Mister?"

"Ain't up to me," Johnny replied pushing his hat back farther on his head. "Namin' your ride's special, it has to feel right. You'll know it."

"What's the name a your horse. He sure is fine."

"His name is Barranca, it's Spanish for Ravine."

"I like that." Clay seemed to mull it over as Johnny move slowly from the mother to the colt.

"Well, you're in luck, Clay. The problem is easy ta fix."

A smile stretched across Clay's face. "Ya mean it, Mister?

"Sure, I mean it," Johnny replied with a smile. "All your mare here needs is more feed. Feed her more and she'll feed her baby."

The smile quickly faded. "Cain't. That's all we have." He waved his hand toward a small pile of bales.

"Look, you take that wagon a yours and bring it to Baker's field. Fill it up with alfalfa and she'll be makin' more milk than that colt will know what ta do with."

"For real, Mister? That's all it'll take."

"Yup. Now let's get back outside before my friend puts his foot in his mouth."

Clay stopped for a second and looked at Johnny with a puzzled expression. "He can do that?"

Johnny shook his head and laughed. He put his arm around the boy's shoulders and together they walked out of the barn, both trying their best to avoid sinking in the mud.

Stepping into the late day sun Johnny had to rub his eyes just to make sure he was seeing things clearly. There stood Pete and Mrs. Meese, both with the same lip-splittin' grins. "So it's settled then. I'm looking forward to it," Pete beamed.

"Yes, we'll see you on Thursday, for dinner. Thank you Mr. Montgomery."

"Ma, Ma." Clay ran up to his mother. "He says it's not bad. All we need is more feed and we can get it at Baker's field. She's just hungry, Ma."

"That's wonderful; Clay, but we won't be needing no charity from the Bakers. These fine gentlemen have stopped by to repay a debt they owed your Daddy and we'll be buying good feed from now on." She caught Johnny's eye and gave him a quick wink.

**Part 8**

Johnny stood in his stirrups and stretched. He was tired, dead tired, and he rubbed at the tightness in his chest. But, from atop this hill he could see Lancer. And there was no stopping the big, jaw-aching, smile that had been tugging at him for the better part of the day. "Home," he said the word out loud. Liked how it sounded and said it again. "Home. We're home, Barranca."

It wasn't very long ago that home was just a word, like any other. Always knew what it meant, but not, how it felt. And that is where the true meaning was. All it took was kindness to unlock the secret of home. A secret that would have remained lost, buried deep within a black heart. But, in that small house, in that room with the yellow checked curtains, he learned the value of so many things. Baker's motives were pure, he held nothing back. 'Your body is not yet ready, but your mind, it is restless, so we'll talk or you'll listen. It makes no difference to me. Either way we shall tire your mind with conversation. Otherwise, you'll surely drive us quite mad.' Johnny chuckled softly at the memory.

And too be sure, Col. Baker could talk. He could talk about almost anything. But there was one thing he said that stuck. Whenever Johnny was alone it would come around and wear on his mind. 'I never set out to change the world. The man who does that only succeeds in changing himself, and not for the better, I might add. My only goal is to leave a small ripple and let others carry it from there.'

A small ripple, that's all it took. It pushed a change in his life. It forced him to choose a new path, a path that led back to Mexico and a failed revolution, a path that nearly cost him his life. But, a path that was his only chance, a path that led him here, to Lancer and home. Shadows stretched long as the daylight began to fade. One by one, lanterns were lit until light glowed from nearly every window. The warmth of his home called him, and he spurred Barranca on.

"We'd just about given up on you, Boy," Scott said with a smile as he stepped onto the porch. "Tough ride? You look like hell."

"Yeah well, I've had better." Johnny pushed off his hat and offered a lopsided smile. "It sure is good to be home, though."

Scott put a hand on his brother's back and followed him through the open door.

"Johnny!" Murdoch bellowed happily. "We were starting to think you weren't going to make it. Drink?" He raised his hand in a gesture, showing his half empty glass. If Johnny didn't know better he'd have sworn his father was drunk, but the twinkle in his eye told a different story, the story of a happy man.

"Sure, I'll have what you're havin', cuz you sure do seem happy," Johnny said, unhitching his gun belt and hanging it on the rack with his jacket and hat. He moved in front of the fire rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"And why shouldn't I be? Both my boys - home for Thanksgiving. Never would have dreamed it back in 63 when they made this holiday official. Thought the only thing I'd ever be thankful for was this ranch. Hell, a year ago I wasn't even sure I'd have that," he said pouring a drink. "But here you both are." He smiled as he handed over the drink. "Everything go all right, Son? You look beat. No mishaps?"

"No, Murdoch, no mishaps. Tired is all. Was a day later leaving than I planned so had to push pretty hard to make it back." He drew a long sip from the glass and nodded his head. "Knew I needed to be here, just had no idea why." Johnny looked at the table and the food being brought from the kitchen and breathed deeply. "Thanksgiving, huh? Who would a thought you'd have a day for that. Kinda funny though, seems I been needin' ta say thank you a lot this week."

"Is that so? Care to enlighten us?" Scott asked.

"Maybe later. Right now I'm starving and sure would like to eat," he said with a smile. "Like I said, I had to push pretty hard." Turning toward Teresa, the smile remained. "Everything smells delicious."

"Why, thank you, Johnny." She offered her arm. "Care to escort me to the table?"

"It would be my pleasure," he said with a bow.

"Wait a minute there. Are you trying to show me up?" Scott hurried to take Teresa's other arm and together they strolled to the table. Johnny pulled out her chair and Scott dropped a napkin in her lap. They stood smiling at each other for a moment then rushed to their seats on opposite sides of the table, Johnny grabbing the one next to Teresa.

Murdoch sat at the head of the table. His eyes shown with complete joy, "Let us give thanks," he said and bowed his head.

"Do you mind, Murdoch? Think I'd like to do that."

"By all means, Johnny."

Johnny sat, silent for a spell, his head bowed, fingers laced and thumbs pressing together in thought. He could feel each pair of eyes on him, knew they were surprised by his request. Nerves caused him to clear his throat but it turned into more of a cough than he expected. He felt Teresa's hand on his shoulder. It gave him the courage to begin.

"Never had much practice talkin' to God," he started soft and unsure, "never had much to be thankful for." His voice grew in confidence. "But now I got people in my life, people who love, need and appreciate me, just for bein' me. And I know sometimes that ain't easy. Even better than that, I learned something. I learned I can love, need and appreciate each one of them and for that I am truly thankful. But I mostly want to say thank you for a small ripple, cuz without it… well, without it, I never would have found home." He kept his head down for a moment, still feeling their eyes and hearing their stunned silence until everyone murmured, "Amen."

He looked up at their faces, each one a mixture of surprise and approval. Scott's eyes lingered longest.

Teresa put her hand over his and gave it a little squeeze. "That was lovely." she whispered. Grabbing a large bowl of potatoes, she passed it to Johnny, a huge smile filing her face.

Scott still eyed him carefully from across the table as Johnny passed over the bowl. "So Johnny, what was Col. Baker like?"

He turned the answer over in his head, tried to figure out the best way to describe this man.

"I asked you, what kind of man…"

"I heard ya," Johnny replied. He pressed the potatoes down with his fork, making a pattern then looked at his brother. "He's a good man, Scott. Better than most and in many ways, in many ways he reminds me of you."

"Oh," said Scott his eyes wide. "Perhaps I should meet this man one day."

"Yup, you should," Johnny said with a grin. "He's short, old and half bald. I'd say he's exactly like you." He finished with a robust laugh that turned into a cough.

"Sounds like you're a little under the weather there, Son. Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'll be fine. Nothin' a good night's sleep won't cure."

"Well then, see that you get that, John. You probably should have stayed in Bakersfield, though I can't imagine what kind of Thanksgiving you'd have with a bunch of strangers." Murdoch forked some turkey onto his plate.

"It wouldn't have been all bad. There are some nice people there. But it wouldn't have been home."

"Just don't want you getting sick, Son. I mean it, both of you. You mean more to me…" Murdoch trailed off, shifted in his seat and said with a smile, "Let's eat." With that everyone dug in and, for a short while, the only sounds heard were the scrape of a knife or the scoop of a fork.

Scott broke the silence. "Teresa, would you be so kind as to pass the stuffing, please, it is really very good."

The bowl passed from Teresa to Johnny who put a mound on his plate then he sent it over to Scott. "I like the stuffing too, Teresa, are those chestnuts?"

"Why yes, Johnny, as a matter of fact there are chestnuts in the stuffing. I never tried them before but Meg Travis suggested them at the dance on Saturday." Teresa blushed.

"They sure smell good when you roast 'em, don't they, Teresa?"

With a tilt of her head Teresa looked at Johnny quizzically. "Yes, they do."

"Was that what we smelled the other day, Teresa?" asked Scott

"It did smell good," added Murdoch as he sipped his wine.

Teresa simply nodded. Scott and Murdoch looked at each other then began to explore the stuffing on their plates.

"So, Scott, about that dance, did ya miss me? Maybe Emma missed me?"

"I hardly think so, Little Brother, she only had eyes for me."

"Yeah, well that's only cuz I wasn't there."

"Oh, Johnny, you should have seen them. I think Emma and Scott danced every dance. They were inseparable. But, if you must know, I did spy Sadie Turner looking rather glum when you didn't show up with us. "

"Sadie, huh?" Johnny poked as his potatoes again. "For once I think it was a good thing I missed a dance."

"Well don't worry, I took the liberty of telling her you'll be looking for a date to the Christmas dance and she should expect an invitation any day now."

"Thanks Brother, remind me to repay the favor,"

The table fell back into a comfortable silence until everyone pushed back from their plates, full and happy. "Boy that sure was good," Johnny said in a soft voice.

The others nodded in agreement. "Don't forget about the pumpkin pie," Teresa reminded. "Murdoch, may we have it by the fire? Please?"

"I don't see why not, Dear." Murdoch spoke as he stood, stretched and patted his belly. "But I think I may have eaten entirely too much."

"Oh, not me. I got plenty of room for pumpkin pie. How 'bout you Scott?"

"I do believe I have a small corner reserved for pie."

Tired seeped into his bones as he sat on the couch, the empty pie plate rested on his lap. "Would you like me to take that, Johnny?"

"Sure, Teresa. It was good. Molasses?" He said sleepily, pulling a pillow into his arms.

"Why, Johnny Lancer, how did you know? Are you sure you've never celebrated Thanksgiving before?"

"Nope. Leastwise not one I remember." His eyes were closed and he hugged the pillow closer.

"Then how on earth do you know about chestnut stuffing and molasses in pumpkin pie?"

"Just do. Learned a lot 'bout Thanksgiving this week, without even tryin'."

"John?" Murdoch's voice pulled him from the darkening edges of sleep.

"Mmmmm."

"Why don't you go to bed? You can fill us in on your trip tomorrow."

"Not much to tell, Pete and Belle were more than happy to split the money."

"Pete and Belle? Who on earth are they?"

"Johnny? Johnny?"

Voices played in the background as he drifted into sleep. He felt the heat of the fire on his face, the warmth of a blanket draped over his body, the hint of a smile on his lips and the swell of joy in his heart, all the result of a small ripple. He was home.

The End – Epilogue follows


	2. Epilogue Letters from Bakersfield

Epilogue – A Small Ripple

Letters from Bakersfield

Christmas was only one week away and the Lancer household was in a state the likes of which Johnny Lancer had never seen. And to think, they thought Day Pardee left them with a mess on their hands. Teresa was in full swing. There was nothing left un-glittered, unbowed or undecorated right down to that bird on the bookcase, with some tiny red hat on his head. And then, in every doorway, something called mistletoe. Teresa got the biggest kick out of sneaking up and kissing either him, Scott or Murdoch on the cheek each time they walked under the damn stuff. It was funny at first but now it was just getting plain annoying.

Work at the ranch had settled into a slightly more relaxed pace and the brothers were sent out on an errand. It was Teresa's new custom to prepare Murdoch's favorite shortbread cookies for the entire county, it would seem. And it was Scott and Johnny's job to deliver the neatly bundled stacks. Each one tied with a red or green satin ribbon. It had been Scott's job to hold his finger over the knot to keep it from loosening while Teresa carefully tied the bow.

Their job complete, the boys returned home, feeling happy and hungry. They entered through the kitchen in the hopes of getting a few of the cookies they'd spent all day delivering. Luck was with them and they sauntered into the great room enjoying the sweet treat.

"I don't think she could find room for one more decoration, Scott"

"Why back in Boston, the house would look very much like this, every inch covered. Teresa must be reading those magazines again. At least your room is safe, Brother."

Johnny shot him a deadly stare. "Maybe yours is, Scott."

"She didn't." Scott said in disbelief.

"Oh, yes she did. Watch out, yours may be next."

"John." Murdoch called out from his desk abruptly ending the boy's conversation. They looked at each other. It was a tone both had heard before, but it was one difficult to figure out.

Scott stopped in his tracks. "Think I'll go check my room, make sure…"

"Oh no you don't, Scott," Johnny whispered, figuring this time that tone meant trouble, though he couldn't figure out what he could have possibly done wrong. But, there hadn't been trouble for a while and he was probably due.

"John," Murdoch said again. "I was in town today. Picked up the mail." He held a letter in his hand. "It's from Colonel Baker," He said waving the white paper in the air. "Would you like to hear it? It may be of interest to you."

"Um, doubt it, Murdoch, since I was there and all." He took a few steps backward.

"But I have to tell you, it contains a few very interesting bits of information. Why don't you both sit down?"

"No," Johnny drawled. "Scott was just on his way to his room, weren't ya Scott?"

"But, you asked me to stay. And quite nicely, I might add. It wouldn't be proper, Brother." Scott leaned on the back of the couch and crossed his arms.

"There are actually two letters." Murdoch stood and held them in his hand. "I'll start with this one.

_Dear Mr. Lancer,_

_It has occurred to me that your fellow ranchers may be looking for a response regarding your generosity. Please keep in mind, my assistance was offered un-tethered; therefore no repayment was required or expected. But since your gift was needed by another member of my community your son felt it prudent to offer the entire sum to that family. I whole heartedly agreed._

_Not knowing your friends and neighbors I cannot assume they would have agreed with your son's decision. And may have expected the money to be accepted by me or returned. Therefore, I have enclosed a note of thanks for the soul benefit of satisfying the other ranchers. The true recipient will remain our secret._

_In regards to your son, I cannot begin to tell you the pleasure seeing him brought to my wife and to me. Slightly more than a year ago, when we last saw him, he was in a great deal of distress, both physical and mental. His leaving was hasty and we feared we would never see him again. Now when we think of John our hearts are light, knowing he has found a home._

_It would bring us great satisfaction if we could meet you and your other son, Scott, one day. John speaks highly of you both and he is a superb judge of character. Unfortunately, he was not as proficient in judging his own. But he is now, and that, Sir, is a testament to you and your family._

_Thank you for giving us so much to be thankful for during this holiday season. We are all truly blessed._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Colonel Tom Baker"_

Both Murdoch and Scott looked at the dark haired man before them. His head was low and he kicked at the toe of one boot with the heel of the other.

"So, it was the man you knew, Johnny." Scott stated matter-of-factly.

Johnny lifted his head with a smile. "And the town, Scott. You don't know one without the other, not in Bakersfield." He turned to his father. "Are we done?"

"No John, I have one more." He unfolded the second letter and began to read.

_"Gentlemen and Ranchers of Morro Coyo,_

_It is with deepest gratitude that I accept your generous gift of One thousand three hundred dollars. The money will go a long way toward maintaining my fields and allowing weary and hungry travelers a safe haven for rest and nourishment. Your kindness will indeed provide the small ripple so many of these souls need to persevere in times of great difficulty._

_Appreciatively Yours,_

_Colonel Thomas Baker"_

"The other ranchers should be happy with that, don't you think, Murdoch? They don't need to know what I really did with the money. Now if you don't mind I think I'll…"

"Johnny, I'd like to ask one question. I have many but I'll only ask one." He allowed it to drop to his desk. "There were four ranches that contributed to this gift." He used his fingers for emphasis. "Lancer and three others. Each ranch gave two hundred dollars." Murdoch stood looking at his son.

Scott looked from father to son.

"It would appear the Colonel has thanked us for the wrong amount. Do you know anything about that, Son?"

"Are you sure you counted right, Murdoch? Because I was sure there was more than eight hundred? You must have been mistaken."

"I hardly think so, Son. Five hundred dollars is a rather large mistake, don't you think? I'm not known for being careless with my money, our money. Is there something you'd like to tell us, Son, something about last year? "

"No," Johnny answered. His head was bowed, his arms crossed protectively.

Murdoch sat heavily back into his chair with a sigh. "Perhaps you are right." He worked both letters back into the envelope. "Perhaps I was mistaken after all. I do believe I may have miscalculated the caliber of my own son. Colonel Baker was right. We are all truly blessed."

Turning on his heel Johnny started to walk away.

"One more thing, John."

He released a held breath and dropped his head.

"There is a letter for you upstairs on your bed. Just thought you'd like to know."

"Thanks, Murdoch," he replied with out turning around but changed direction and went up the stairs.

The door clicked as he pressed his back against it and inspected his room. There was no stopping the smile. Teresa managed to tie red ribbons on his bed posts, put a Christmas quilt on his bed and left a bowl of pine cones near the fireplace. He figured he could live with it if it made her happy. And he had to admit, the pine did smell good. Poor Scott, he was the one who got to help gather all the pine cones that filled baskets all over the house. He did it with Teresa, but didn't seem to mind. That was one of the things about Scott. Always willing to do the little things without a sigh or rolling his eyes. Just a 'sure I'll do that' and a smile.

Johnny arranged his pillows against the headboard and sat back examining the letter. Without opening it he knew exactly who it was from. He broke the seal.

_Dear Johnny,_

_Unkl Pete sed it is all rite if I call you Johnny. Ma wood tan me for shure. Supost ta call peepl mistr and the like. Rekon it can be r secret._

_We had T-H-A-N-K-S-G-I-V-I-N-G with Unkl Pete and haf the town. Shure was fun. C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S wil be evn bettr. We got a new barn door and the pump and the troff fixt and Ma bot new kurtans. Cain't figr why she cride wen we took the old wuns down but she did. Unkl Pete just shakes his hed and sez wimen._

_Its nice havin him around so much. And he cooks reel good. Bettr an Ma but rekon that can be another of r secrets huh Johnny._

_U wer rite. R colt is doin just fine. He is reel pritty. He wil be the best horse evr. Wel maybe not as good as yors but mitee close. He got himself a name Johnny. Bet ya can gess you bein so smart and all. Did ya gess yet? His name is Sombra. That's Spanish ya know for shadow. So I got the name I wanted after all and Ma likes it two._

_Thanks._

_M-E-R-R-Y C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S Johnny_

_Clay Meese_

He sat still for a while reading the letter more than once and smiling. The call to dinner wound its way up the stairs and into his thoughts. It was Scott. His mind drifted back to the day, not all that long ago, the day Scott strode into that saloon in the hopes of saying the right thing. The right string of words that would make all the difference, make his brother come home. He never knew the impact of his words, those right words. The words that told Johnny he was exactly where he belonged, that he'd found home. It was Scott's words, words that made all the difference in the world. 'But when you go you won't even leave a small ripple.'


End file.
